


something new

by Anonymous



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Mpreg, Pregnant Sex, parents geraskier are softies :-(, pregnant jas, yes i went down that road
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-10
Updated: 2020-02-10
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:15:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22637416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Jaskier is pregnant and horny.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 11
Kudos: 687
Collections: Anonymous





	something new

**Author's Note:**

> alternately: i should stop impulse writing stuff when i've had the idea for five minutes
> 
> i've started rewatching the series for the third time and that's entirely what i'm blaming this word vomit on  
> ik geralt is canonically sterile and stuff, so let's say he uh took some potion or something that made him get jaskier knocked up? idk i didn't really elaborate as to how they ended up like this, because i seriously didn't have the nerve ://  
> halfway through the story i forgot the point of why i was writing this but i finished it nonetheless. maybe if i was so consistent with assignments haha jk unless  
> there's something i still don't like abt this, maybe i'll look over it again ion know yet oops

Geralt is coming back from a successful monster hunt—if his triumphant smirk and proud posture is anything to go by—and he sees Jaskier hasn’t moved a single centimetre all day. Which is not that surprising because Jaskier is pushing his sixth month of pregnancy—only three months until Geralt’s free of the endless, utterly ridiculous demands Jaskier has been making all this time. _Geralt, I_ need _pie and sausages now_.

They both know it’s not exactly the best circumstances for a baby to grow up. But Geralt has insisted on Jaskier not accompanying Geralt to any of his hunts, as much as they might miss each other during the time apart. Geralt takes care of earning some coin to make sure they always have a roof above their heads and a warm meal for the two—no, _three_.

If you leave out the fact that Geralt’s more often than not covered in monster intestines and reeks of Jaskier doesn’t even want to know why, it almost feels domestic; Geralt coming home after work to his partner and their unborn baby. And this just makes him look even more forward to coming to his bard, but it also makes it harder to separate from the two most important people in his life. Especially if you consider Jaskier hyperactive sex drive. He seems to be horny every second of the day, and Geralt often wakes up at ass o’clock to Jaskier on top of him and whispering filthy words into his ears with his skilled tongue.

“About damn time,” is what Geralt is greeted with, and, _oh_ , the witcher is so in love. “I have been waiting for an eternity.” For good measure, Jaskier throws a dramatic hand over his forehead and sighs theatrically.

“Did we run out of pickled cabbage, or why are you acting like the world would have ended if I had come home a second later?” Geralt asks, unable to quite keep off his smile. Looking around, the room of this inn doesn’t feel like _omehohome_ , but, and Geralt cringes, wherever Jaskier is, he feels the safest.

“I’ve had cravings,” Jaskier replies curtly, quite out of character for someone who can’t keep his mouth shut for most time of the day (he even sleep talks).

“Is it pie this week?”

“No, you.”

Six months ago, Geralt would have been taken aback by this blunt confession (but also not so much, because Jaskier is never one to keep his thoughts to himself, and when he’s thinking about Geralt bending him over in the horse stall, he will inform him), but by now, he’s gotten used to it. You would think Jaskier is seated and content with Geralt having knocked him up so well, but seeing how he’s already raking his expressional eyes over Geralt’s broad figure, undressing him with his eyes, he will probably never tire of Geralt pleasing him.

“I can’t believe you’ve been making me wait out on you on purpose,” Jaskier pouts, and his eyes are getting watery.

Mood swings are also something Geralt has had taken some time to get accustomed to. But now, he dares to say he’s become pretty good at reading Jaskier’s moods and how to handle them. Besides, in the end, it’s either food or sex what Jaskier is asking for.

“You know I would never,” Geralt replies, already getting rid of his armour, leaving him in his linen clothing. He’s glad he didn’t have a job today that consisted of unwanted fluids over his self because that means he can skip the bathing part and straight up get to the fun part.

“I almost saw myself forced to look for someone else,” Jaskier babbles on.

Something in Geralt’s right eye twitches but he stays composed. He knows a) Jaskier would never do that, mainly because he keeps chanting about how Geralt’s dick is the only one that could ever fully satisfy him and meet up to his standards. B) Geralt hardly believes someone would take advantage of such a hormonal pregnant man, who’s been claimed so obviously, no matter how much of assholes they all are. But the thought of it alone makes his blood boil.

Wordlessly, he climbs onto the bed Jaskier’s laying on. He heaves Jaskier up and manoeuvres him so that he’s sitting in his lap. Jaskier immediately wraps his arms around Geralt and leans down to kiss him hello.

It’s sweet, soft, quick, but there’s an underlying promise of what’s to come.

“I’ve missed you,” Jaskier murmurs against Geralt’s lips, not quite breaking contact like he doesn’t want to let him go.

“Figures,” Geralt grumbles back, kissing all over Jaskier’s jaw and neck, aware of the bump in between them. “I’ve missed you even more,” he adds because he knows Jaskier will smack him if he doesn’t.

“Been thinking about your dick all day,” Jaskier confesses with his head thrown back.

“You only want me for my body,” Geralt muses against the freckled skin of Jaskier’s throat, sucking a bruise into the skin.

“Obviously. Have you _seen_ yourself?” Jaskier retorts.

“Too busy looking at the beauty that is you.”

Jaskier might be the one begging for a dicking every day, but if he’s being honest, Geralt is just as riled up and frustrated. He may not be too showing of what’s going through his head most of the time, but _Gods_ , living together with Jaskier who’s just _blooming_ right in front of his eyes is a kind of torture Geralt wouldn’t wish upon anyone.

Just the thought that that’s Geralt’s seed what’s growing up in Jaskier’s beautiful body is driving him crazy. He can’t explain it, but whenever he sees Jaskier in this state, he’s growing so possessive and protective of the two, and he’s getting stuck in this tunnel, with the only perspective of keeping his love and their child sated and happy.

But then there’s also his scent. A reminder of what Geralt has done to him that many months ago and it’s driving the witcher insane. Obviously, Jaskier’s scent alone has always been a way of getting Geralt out of his seemingly emotionless and rational state into a more dangerous and frantic one, but now, six months pregnant _and_ horny and willing on top of Geralt—yeah, he’s done for.

Jaskier offers his throat up for more bruises and bites as if he’s presenting himself to his lover. Geralt noses the skin below his ear where his scent is the most prominent and he almost loses his mind. Or maybe he’s already lost his mind, at this point, he doesn’t know.

“Less smelling, more you sticking your monster dick into me,” Jaskier demands, frustrated, desperate, annoyed. And Geralt knows better than to deny a sexually frustrated Jaskier his wish.

He carefully helps Jaskier lay down on his back. He makes sure he’s seated comfortably with the spare pillows Geralt has managed to sneak out from another room with nothing but his infamous negotiation skills. He knows Jaskier can get cranky easily and as much as his erection is straining in his trousers, Jaskier will always be his number one priority.

And even though he’s promised Jaskier to hurry up, he takes a moment or three to look down at his beautiful bard and _admire_. Over time, he’s definitely gained more chub all over his body, but mostly on his hips and thighs, and Geralt is in love with them. He loves burying his face between the supple thighs or nipping tiny bites into the love handles because Jaskier is oh so sensitive there.

Jaskier squirms under his hungry gaze and almost reaches for the covers to cover his body. Geralt cocks his head; Jaskier has never been the insecure type, and with his profession as a bard, he should be used to being the centre of attention of many people. Geralt reckons his undefeated self-confidence has started to waver with the time passing, and he guesses it’s because of his weight gain. He doesn’t get it, though. Jaskier is more beautiful than he’s ever been. So full of life and brightness.

He takes his thighs into each hand and kneads the flesh, very interested in leaving his handprints there. Jaskier minutely forgets to cover himself and closes his eyes with a blissed-out expression instead. Geralt peppers kisses all over the skin, and he knows Jaskier loves the scratch of his beard on his most sensitive body parts.

Something hard and sharp hits Geralt’s arm. He picks it up and sees Jaskier has thrown him a vial of chamomile oil.

“You may be immortal, but some of us don’t have endless years to live and want to get fucked _right now_.”

Geralt chuckles and he would have been smacked on his head if Jaskier’s bump hadn’t been in the way.

Jaskier sets his feet onto the sheets, his legs as wide apart as they can get, and Geralt goes to town. He isn’t very surprised to see Jaskier has been playing with himself earlier, but he still makes sure that Jaskier is thoroughly prepped. Mere minutes in and Jaskier is already a writhing and moaning mess underneath him. Geralt makes a mental note to pay their landlord a tip when they’re leaving.

Just when Geralt’s about to line up with Jaskier’s _very_ ready hole, Jaskier stops him. Geralt suppresses an eye roll.

“I wanna ride you,” Jaskier declares.

Geralt helps him up into his lap, his chest pressed flush against Jaskier‘s back, and slowly Jaskier sinks down on his throbbing cock.

When he’s fully seated inside, time stops for a moment. Jaskier has his mouth wide open in a silent moan, Geralt’s eyes are shut tightly by how much he’s experiencing. Jaskier starts moving just that one moment later because he’s Jaskier after all, his quivering thighs supporting his body and the additional weight Geralt has planted there.

Geralt scrambles for Jaskier’s lips. It’s a bit difficult to navigate the action considering Jaskier’s need for constant stimulation and the weird angle but they make it work somehow, just how they always have. But you can’t call it a kiss, it’s rather two lips frantically pressed on top of each other, their breaths mingling.

At one point, Jaskier is growing tired as his thighs give up. And Geralt overcomes his thought of telling Jaskier that he’s seen this coming in favour of grabbing Jaskier’s soft hips and slamming up into him. He’s flexing his abs with the effort and Jaskier grabs his biceps for leverage.

Jaskier is moaning happily and without filter, because he’s, once again, getting what he wants. Geralt doesn’t find it in him to criticise his own inconsequence and how he’s so whipped for the bard, not with how tight and hot and perfect Jaskier is around him, clenching because he knows it’s driving his witcher crazy.

Geralt doesn’t remember who comes first, and it doesn’t matter. He stills, buries his face in the crook of Jaskier’s neck as he comes deep inside his lover while Jaskier shudders above him as well.

“Hi,” Jaskier smiles lazily up after Geralt is done cleaning his sweat-drenched body up. Geralt is actually very much in need of a bath himself, but that can wait. Cuddles with Jaskier come first.

Geralt just snuggles up in his post-coital haze; an action which has earned him the nickname of cuddle monster.

“Our child will never find out about this,” Jaskier says, slightly slurred speech, just like every time.

“She won’t,” Geralt grumbles into Jaskier’s skin.

“She?” Jaskier’s voice is shaking, and he sounds like he’s going to break down any second.

“Can smell it. We’re gonna get a girl,” Geralt elaborates.

Jaskier tightens his arms around Geralt. They entangle their fingers above their unborn daughter.

“I love you.”

“I love you even more.”


End file.
